


O Little Light

by joethelion



Series: Polis [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Don't Riot, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7224121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joethelion/pseuds/joethelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa sighs into Abby and deepens the kiss. The world doesn’t end for either of them. </p><p>Abby goes to find Clarke. Set between S2 and S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Abby settles down with a small cooking fire, and time to think. She's somewhere between the  _Skaikru_ camp and unknown territory. She’s lost herself in the vast acres of woods, headed towards the foothills and finally,  _finally_  she can breath.

She took the easiest path away from all of them. After handing the Chancellor pin to Marcus, there was one last awkward and frustrating as hell exchange with a very aggressive, chronically hurting Raven. She'd refused to retaliate and walked away exhausted and furious. She let Jackson know she was going—told all of them they could go fuck themselves, basically—and headed out.

An hour later Lincoln easily catches up with her. Abby is silent as Lincoln lopes up to her in his guard jacket, appearing like a ghost. He's cautious and thoughtful enough not to frighten her.

“You know what you’re doing?” His question is modulated and kind, kinder than any of the rest have been, even more so than Marcus.

Marcus hides his concern for her in hyper-competence; he’s proactive and compassionate to an absurd degree. He picks up the slack when Abby’s too exhausted in her dual roles to care much about anything beyond eating, and she hardly does that.

She hasn’t slept well in weeks—only once or twice on the couch in the Chancellor’s quarters while Marcus strategized with the others and watched over her, protective and composed. 

How many patrols can be spared to find one citizen, no matter who that person is, no matter how important she is to any of them? If Clarke doesn’t want to be found; she won't be found.

Raven is becoming an impossible ache in Abby's heart; her leg, hip and heavy wounds destroying her ability to think straight or function at the incredible level she’s used to. It’s driving both of them insane with frustration and despair.

That leaves Abby all on her own. Everyone’s looking for her daughter, everyone’s doing what they can to cope; but everyone isn’t Clarke’s mother, and she’s had enough. 

Abby’s so angry and desolate that she hardly reacts except to place her hand on his cheek and thank him for the drawn maps of the area, the extra food, a weapon. He gives her casual advice on what she may or may not encounter. He doesn’t even ask if she wants company.

“Find her, Chancellor. I don’t know what I’d do if Octavia were out here alone.”

“I’m just Abby, right now. I’m just her mother.”

Lincoln nods, “I lost my mother when I was young.”

Abby leans into him and sighs, “Go back, okay? Go back. I’ll be home soon.”

* * *

She’s not taking the easiest route, and she knows her daughter—she knows Clarke would avoid the Mountain—and Bellamy is adamant about recounting exactly how Clarke left. She was sad and stunned, he said, as broken as the rest of them. _I bear it so they don't have to._ Bellamy hasn't spoken to Jasper since.

He says he watched her double back along the access road they’d already traversed, after making sure that Abby was well taken care of on her stretcher and holding Marcus’ hand. He says Raven was carried in Wick’s arms. Bellamy made sure to tell Abby those details.

She’s taken all that into account, knows that Clarke can only do so much on her own in the wilderness; Abby knows at the very least she’ll stick by a water source and lay rudimentary traps along the way.

So she follows the river, and stops thinking altogether.

* * *

It’s been days, and she sits exposed to anyone or anything that might present itself along the summit of a ridge. She looks out over smaller white peaks newly covered with frost and a dusting of late season snow, to the sharp, forested creases of the higher foothills and the rolling fields beyond. 

She’s looking down towards a startling city she couldn’t have even imagined still existed after the Fall. From where she sits meadows and trees combine, the distance doesn’t diminish the sheer size of the sprawling metropolis or the awe-inspiring tower dominating it’s center.

The river sparkles in the early spring sunlight and birds wheel around the immense structure visible even to her from this distance, and sometimes that light glints off of the vast, collapsed ancient structures that emanate out from its fixed location. It’s fascinating and Abby knows that she’s looking at Lexa’s seat of power. For the first time in days, she allows herself to be enraged again instead of numb.

She’s dealing only marginally with  ever-present panic and fear, and then brutally suppressing it. Clarke is still alive, she knows she would feel it if she wasn’t. It was that way with Jake. Something critical to her survival, some piece of her being and her life disappeared, hurtling across vast distances, frozen in space and haunted.

Clarke walked away with a purpose. Abby wonders if it’s related to the same awful destructiveness and agony Raven is succumbing to. But Clarke and Raven are different. Raven doesn’t entertain guilt, or self-pity; she throws shit or she deflects or she looks at Abby when she doesn’t think she’s being watched with such a sharp vulnerability that Abby’s first instinct is to take care of everything for her, as quickly as possible, as efficiently as possible.

It’s what’s created the awful, unwarranted tension between them. One of the most pointed things Raven has done to retaliate for so much despair and loss, two awkward as hell emotions she kissed goodbye early on in her life, too quickly, is ripping into Abby with brutal truth after brutal truth. 

Abby’s useless to everyone right now, she’s fucking up all her responsibilities as she ignores what’s right in front of her. Clarke is gone, and she’s taken Abby’s heart with her. She can’t fix anyone. She needs to fix herself.

It means there’s something to fix in her first, something to lay to rest and find an answer to. 

She’s concentrating too hard, her eyes go unfocused, and she relies on an old, often-used quiet internal prayer, a magical, stupid little thing she used to sing to Clarke when she was a baby.

Abby’s own mother used to sing it to her; she taught Jake the words and he would rock her to sleep whispering them in her ear.

She says it to herself when she doesn’t know anything anymore. When she surrenders to her utter inability to control reality.

* * *

The quiet, obvious power radiating off the young woman who steps out of the trees startles Abby with a stunning, dizzying force that has her on her feet in a defensive, ridiculously ineffectual bid for protection so fast she loses her breath.

The  _obvious_  thing is that Lexa’s made no move to conceal herself. She comes gliding out of the shadows and is just—there. Abby, after the initial shock, isn’t even surprised that the Commander is the first person she sees in days. It makes perfect sense.

Abby’s rage is what’s surprising. After channeling it, not letting it take over her faculties and her emotions, it’s there now with immense ferocity, and she almost collapses backwards. She concentrates on the sound of her blood through her veins, her breath's agonized stutter-stop. She focuses on the light behind her eyelids when she closes them to get a grip on herself.

She opens her eyes and stares the girl down, and a large part of her—the clinician, remains distant—taking her measure, thoughtful.

Abby opens her eyes, and Lexa speaks and the world changes,

“Where is she? She’s in mortal danger.”

All Abby can think to say through her disgust is, “You’re alone?”

“No, of course not, Chancellor.”

Lexa’s people flow out of the forest like a crest of breaking waves. Their deadly, efficient intent is focused on gathering what small amount of foodstuffs and the one light pack Abby’s been carrying.

All of that is taken away from her and she allows herself to be frisked for obvious concealed weapons all the while glaring at her—what, adversary? 

That’s the extent of it. She and a maddening, relaxed Lexa face off in an area of the glade fumed with light. Abby experiences an unnerving sense of fate, as though she and the Commander are the same, the center of both their worlds, in desperate need of a missing limb. 

And then it’s done. Whatever formalities there are to being graciously hijacked, and taken against her will are done. She knows without a doubt she won’t have a say in whatever happens next. It's all very polite.

* * *

“What are you doing out here. You know nothing of the terrain and nothing about survi—  

“Mount Weather is no longer a threat. I don’t know of any other threat, because Clarke made you look like a fucking fool and handled it.”

“No one doubts that. She’s revered for it.”

“She had help.” Abby almost lunges at the Commander, “You left her. You broke her. She was alone, except for us. You betrayed her. That's all on you.” 

“And when she burned 300 of my warriors? Was it for her people? Everything is always for our people, no matter who we are. There are no compromises here. We both did what was needed. I understand that about her. You don’t.”

“Where do you think she learned it from?” Abby snaps.

“Ah,” Roan snorts, “I’m familiar with mothers like you.”

Lexa considers her for a minute and then pours them all wine; she pushes a glass towards Abby before taking a long drink of her own, and settling back into her chair amused when Abby still hesitates over the offering.

“It’s fine,” Roan says. “Drink. She only poisons people she likes. Tried it with me many times.” 

Lexa sighs, “Shut up, Roan. Yes, my actions at the Mountain were seen as weakness.  _Azgeda_ —“

“Who?” Abby asks.

“My people. Lots of people and  _Krus_  floating around out there, turns out, and if you Sky people would pull your head out of your myopic asses you’d know that. Ice Nation. Reluctant participants in the Coalition of the Twelve.” Roan explains.

And Abby looks at him, sees the differences between the young woman and the man. Different markings. Subtle differences in their bone structure, expressions, minute differences in carriage and ease—how they present themselves. How watchful they are. Both killers, though. Both part of this burnt earth. Born here.

“My Mother, Queen Nia of  _Azgeda_  is using  _Heda_ ’s perceived weakness to her advantage. 'Military exercises' too near the borders are becoming outright skirmishes and raids.”

“Too many to ignore.” Lexa watches for a reaction. 

“What does this have to do with Clarke?”

Lexa, Abby realizes, is being patient with her, waiting for her to catch on.

She puts down her wine amidst an overwhelming wave of adrenaline and nausea, “Why does  _Azgeda_  want her?”

"As you say, she did what none of us could do,“ Abby watches Lexa’s eyes, and there’s nothing there except an odd compassion and respect as she talks about Clarke; it encompasses Abby as well.

“She’s become more than she was, a talisman of great power.  _Wanheda_ —Mountain Slayer."

“She’s a girl.”

“Lot of people out there right now looking for that girl. If my mother finds her she’ll kill her, and  _Azgeda_  will be ascendant.”

“You’re talking in magical terms. There are several diagnoses for—”

“Don’t ever underestimate where you are,” Lexa warns softly.

She rises and motions Abby over to a table filled with maps, with small figurines placed to signify both  _Azgeda_  forces and where the other  _Krus_  are located. The territories are enormous. The Dead Zone and west of them are unknowns. Fair enough.

Absently, Abby traces where she is in relation to the Ark settlement.

“She’s a coward,” Roan murmurs.

Abby stares at him, and he stares right back, “Please, Chancellor. Try something. I’ve been stuck here far too long and I’m bored.”

Abby laughs, and he blinks in pleasant surprise.

“Why are you here?” Abby asks.

“My mother doesn’t like me.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Lexa barely suppresses a smile. And Abby can’t even believe Roan is flirting with her right now.

“Let me tell you who I am and why I’ve succeeded so far, Chancellor—I am very, _very_  good at maintaining order and providing from regulated shared resources. I’ve managed to secure those resources and rebuild standing reinforcements, again for the common good. I’ve integrated the Clans and their elites in a united front working for their own interests and against their worst natures.”

“That was a mouthful. Fuck knows they couldn’t do it themselves. And there is the god-like position you hold.” Roan says with a wide grin.

Lexa sighs again, “Yes, there’s that.”

“So, what’s the issue?” 

“ _Azgeda_  is threatening my position, the peace, the Coalition and conducting illegal “operations” on our borders. How would you handle this if it were your own people?” She’s interested and waits respectfully for Abby to answer.

“I’d find Clarke,” Abby says without hesitating.

“Yes? What else, Chancellor? We need a strategy that won’t start a war but will end this now. How would you handle an enormous and deadly pain in the ass?” Roan leans against the table and surveys the tableau. His tone is light but the tension radiating off of him is unmistakable.

“Does your nation have a hierarchy, besides the Queen? Are you nomadic? Is there a base of operations?”

“ _Azgeda_ is self-contained. We’re broad affiliates of disparate factions and we attack in swarms, lightning strikes on anything and any territory that has vulnerabilities. The best assassins are Ice Nation. We have no problem running if there’s trouble, as a general rule.”

“Charming.” Abby raises an eloquent eyebrow and sucks in a breath before speaking again, “All of you fight the same, then. Stealth and guerilla tactics? Change it up. Then you corner them in a scenario where their mobility is negated and they’re forced to engage.”

She fucks around with some figures around the table and takes a charcoal stick to draw a few arrows, “You go one group by one group by one group until all are contained or immobilized. Create a confrontation where the raiding parties are trapped, restrict their movement.”

Abby points at one part of the map, “Push them up against the mountain range, here. Send a small force of seemingly vulnerable warriors against them, maybe on foot.”

Roan moves to her side to get a better look; he’s listening.

“ _Azgeda_  will swarm these small forces by surrounding them, I assume?” Abby looks at Lexa for confirmation and gets it, “While a small group is attacked, move forward with a secondary light force and mask your real maneuvers.”

“Behind that feint,” Lexa nods, “we move in three columns, left, right and center, to positions that would allow us to surround them with the range at their back.”

“And you’ll need something else.”

“What’s that?”

“Superior firepower. Guns.”

“We don’t—“

“My people do. And you’ll need to get over your idiotic, totemic fear of them. They’re powerful, necessary things to have at your disposal. In any historical context, superior weaponry has won out over superstition.”

And there it is.

“Find Clarke, bring her back to me alive and safe and you’ll get what you need. Protect her at all costs.” Abby walks away from the table.

Lexa bursts out laughing, completely charmed.

Roan snarls an oddly affectionate gesture and hides a smile behind another glass of wine.

“She is your daughter.”

Abby relaxes despite herself, “We’ll even train you,  _if_  you bring Clarke back alive and  _if_ you lift the kill order on Lincoln.”

* * *

“Why did she run? Afterward.”

Abby doesn’t turn around from where she’s leaning against the balcony overlooking the city; “She killed approximately 600 people in under two weeks. I’m not even counting what she did at Tondc. If you need to kill me because I know that, whatever. What would you have done?”

“You’ve killed, too. I can see it all over you, like an aura. You know power and what it means.” 

Abby nods, “I have and I do. And I’ve gambled with Clarke’s life.” Abby turns and Lexa is so startled by whatever she sees in Abby's eyes she nearly steps back.

“You and I, we have that in common,” Abby adds, bitterly. It’s a fair rebuke.

All that Lexa is, each wound, strength; all of her elementary particles, her place and her time and her life—she experiences it from a strange remove. She’s isolated in her position, like Abby. 

Unlike Abby, she’s ruthlessly suppressed her vulnerabilities. She has a near-immortal, singular intelligence suffused through her entire consciousness, a curious one. But Abby is a fascinating mix of emotion, strategy and pure recklessness.

Lexa’s decidedly uncomfortable and it infuriates her. Neither the Griffin women are easy for her, at all, in any way. This one though, seems—she's so alarmingly beautiful, relaxed and irritated by hostile surroundings. She’s acting like Lexa is a necessary inconvenience and she’ll do anything she needs to do to find Clarke. It's all the truth.

“I—care for her,” Lexa says softly. 

“You knew her how long? Twelve days? Everyone who cares for her forced her out. And you were the catalyst for that—you abandoned her and she did what she needed to do. It’s destroying her.” Abby’s voice is deadly. The chasm between them is too big. There’s no common ground here except for Clarke.

Lexa leaves Abby to her afternoon meal, seeing no reason to offer to share it with her now as she had intended. Maybe a good bout with Roan will settle her.

* * *

She looks around at the communal dining hall; it’s positively feudal. 

“I see you two beat the crap out of each other this afternoon.” Abby takes her seat at dinner, refreshed and bathed. “Feel better?”

Roan touches his fantastic black eye and Lexa’s hand goes unconsciously to her jaw. They both nod.

“It’s… relaxing. Neither of us have any real equals except each other.”

“I’m sure.” Abby sighs and throws back an impressive amount of wine.

“Do you have someone like that?” Lexa asks and Abby is stupidly off balance. The question is guileless and Abby pauses before answering.

“Yes. Several people. It would be too difficult to live otherwise, I think.”

“That’s rare.” Lexa tilts her head and looks wistful, young. 

“I’ve also lost people who were far better than I could ever be,” Abby rolls her knife in her hands, looks away down the long bench focused on everything and nothing.

“People I never knew, people who sacrificed themselves for everyone and—when we were still up in the Ark. Before we came down here.”

Lexa looks straight at her and nods once. Roan, for his own good reasons, stays silent.

“You have someone you care for.” Lexa states. 

Abby actually laughs at that, “God, you know? I have no idea. Clarke—“ 

Lexa waves her hand, “Of course you have Clarke. I meant—“

“I know what you meant. It’s a good question, and… I have no idea. Not anymore.” Raven is not something Abby needs to think about, not now. 

Lexa narrows her eyes, “You’ve been treated like Clarke has. Blamed. Judged. Pushed away.”

Lexa shakes her head and pours them all a glass of some harder liquor than Abby’s used to. It tastes a bit like the bourbon stash Jaha had on the Ark. Stronger. More potent, the warm burn of it suffuses her body.

“I can handle it.” Abby practically dismisses the shared commiseration without a second thought.

“You care too much.” Roan announces.

“Not true. I hardly give a shit about the rule of law.” The drink is loosening her up, “it’s a problem. I’m a terrible Chancellor; I was a fantastic council member—merciless and conflicted, uncompromising. I got what I wanted because I made too many mistakes when I didn't and people died. I don’t really abide by any rules—rules killed my— well, it got someone killed.”

Lexa leans in, eyes brighter than a moment before, “Not just someone. Many people. You care too much.”

“I—“

“Who cares about you, Abby?” Roan asks her. Abby intuits that it would have been the next thing out of Lexa’s mouth. 

Abby sort of inhales at that and laughs unwillingly, despite herself, “When do you leave, Roan?”

“Tonight, after we’re done here.”

“Good hunting.” Abby murmurs. 

Roan slides his hand across the table and opens his palm upwards, turns it towards her. Abby is lost. She reaches for him. He nods at her, once.

* * *

“He’s your prisoner?” Abby stands next to Lexa in the night gardens several levels lower than the Commander's personal rooms, the level Abby is housed in. Torches line the walls and low braziers filled with sweet, delicate oils light the vast, beautiful space.

“Yes, in a way.” Lexa reaches up into the peonies and brings one branch down to inspect them. She’s delighted. “For the sake of appearances and the outside world, yes. His unique position as a bargaining chip against his mother isn’t lost on either of us. His own people would have her out if anyone were strong enough. No one is.”

“You are.” Abby, slightly drunk, observes the girl before her and is aware of Lexa’s uncertainty and extreme reserve.

Lexa turns to her, “I don’t want power or territory. I never did. It  _should be_ what I want. All I see is mine simply because I exist, because of my position and title, and it is. But no, I don’t want it. I realized early on that I  _am_  power. But the need for it? No. Do you understand?”

Abby does in an abstract way. Lexa is far from formidable right now. Her uneasiness with her role is apparent. She seems to spring straight from introverted loneliness, through years of torment and isolation, and loss.

“Who have you lost, Lexa?” Abby takes a peony from the branch Lexa’s still enthralled with and holds it to her face; she breathes in happily. "I love flowers."

“Who have I ever had? Everyone I—care for—dies.”

Abby’s head comes up. She’s honest to god speechless and nearly overcome by some very confused emotions she refuses to name.

“That can’t be true,” she manages, barely. Besides the sadness overwhelming her for Lexa’s sake, there’s also a refusal to accept this woman’s solitude in the vast world she inhabits. It’s appalling and unthinkable.

“I can understand if you’re through with everyone, but—“ 

“No, Chancellor. They die. It’s as simple and complex as that.”

“Why are you telling me this,” Abby asks gently. 

“I think— we’re alike. Is that possible?”

Abby, still holding the flower, reaches towards Lexa’s face. Lexa stiffens in an inborn reflex and then seems to pull herself back, ready to run or call the guards or kill her for the affront. She’s ready to do something, but then she visibly relaxes. 

And Abby aches so suddenly and wildly that she’s not sure if the gesture is to keep herself standing or to reassure Lexa of…whatever she can help with... she wants to just let Lexa  _rest_.

Her fingers run up Lexa’s cheek and through her hair, and Lexa's eyes close and she stands perfectly still leaning into Abby’s touch. And then she's cupping Lexa's jaw with both hands, turning her face into the moonlight, thumb gently running past her temples and down towards her mouth until her haunting emerald eyes open again, dark as the surrounding night.

“How long?” Abby whispers, “How long has it been since someone touched you." 

Lexa’s gaze sharpens, but she doesn’t pull away, “How long has it been for you, Abby?”

“A little over a year.” Abby answers honestly, without embarrassment. And then she smiles, “It’s been a ridiculous, shit year.” She leaves that there without further explanation because it's true and it’s a vast understatement and Lexa knows more than she does about it—

“Years, Abby,” Lexa brings her own hands up and circles Abby’s wrists with them. And then she pulls away from her, “For me, it’s been years.”

* * *

The conversation has been unexpectedly—too much—for both of them, and Abby hardly reacts or knows what to do when Lexa enters her room later that night after knocking softly.

This woman is so  _respectful_  it’s unnerving; it almost sends Abby into a panic.

The Commander she can deal with. This version of Lexa is terrifying. People barge in and out of other people’s spaces at random in the Skaikru camp. But this—this is—

Lexa stands silently in front of her for a moment and Abby feels helpless. She drowns in the need to reach her even though Lexa is simply standing there, looking much like herself— watching her for what—she doesn't have the words for it.

Her eyes start to blur with tears suddenly, unexpectedly, and Lexa's eyes widen enough for Abby to realize she needs to say something to let her know that this is what she’s needed since—well, since. 

And that thought, knowing that, undoes her, and she actually starts to cry.

* * *

Then, more startling, Lexa moves against her, and strong, graceful hands slide into her hair to steady her.

"Okay?” Lexa’s voice is so tender, and unsure that Abby forces herself to get her shit together quickly because really the very last thing she wants is to scare the hell out of Lexa right now.

Abby’s been shattered by everything, by forces greater than herself and by her own actions. No surprise that she decides the only way to protect her own life is to care for everyone else first and push their boundaries as far as she can. It’s selfish; it’s all she knows how to do.

Abby loves courage. She makes the commitment to find it in others and treat those she loves, and those who need it with a reverence they might not be able to find in themselves and Raven, Marcus, Clarke—all of them—respond to that commitment by removing their impossible obstacles.

She dreams the impossible for others while she grinds herself under her own terror and anger; she’s a physician, and she’s killed more people than she can count. She’s killing herself.

This is the trick. Dream the world into being and the world will not grind you under, it will lift you up. She’s not a visionary soul, she’s a point of light and a lightning rod all at once, but somehow she’s surrounded herself with visionaries.

That’s how her magic is done; that’s how the larger magic in the world is done. By hurling herself into the void of her own darkness and discovering it’s a waterfall where she can hold the Dead and the Living and gather the materials she needs for change. Life will talk back to her.

Abby can practically feel the wave of relief sweep through Lexa when her breathing steadies.

And Abby is so startled by Lexa's kindness; she feels unimportant to the most important people in her life, and that she’s peripheral—the direct cause of their pain. Lexa isn't broadcasting that, at all.

She, both of them, know what duty is, and Abby knows what she has to atone for.

She realizes that Lexa has always taken every responsibility onto her own shoulders, has never shied away from her duty, and how in every moment she reclaims her own mind and heart in a strange alchemy Abby never let herself learn.

Even the betrayal at the Mountain is weighed and measured against a universe bigger than this one for what it cost.

Abby hopes that Lexa does what she can’t. She hopes that there's absolutely no part of Lexa that sits in judgment of what anyone else has done. She acts from the center of what is.  

Finn killed these many innocents. He answered with that many wounds. And Clarke is changing reality around her, inexorably, for everyone. She's young and she'll learn. But she won't learn from Abby and maybe that's a very, very good thing.

Lexa’s expression clears, and she sighs. The world has never ended for either of them.

Abby’s body comes awake, the softness of Lexa's care and the gravity of it sears itself onto her heart. Her body tenses for an instant then goes pliant. She puts her hands out and touches Lexa’s silken skin, traces the edges of the tattoos on her back. She puts her hands behind her head and hugs Lexa to her neck where Lexa’s mouth and lips warm her.

Abby says nothing, but her heart slows to the pace of Lexa's. She rocks Lexa’s strong, lean warrior’s body gently with her own, and then pushes her head away to scan her face for something, anything, permission. 

Lexa murmurs, after a second, and Abby while not quite understanding what was said still melts into this girl who’s very much like her, and very much a stranger in every way.

“I'm fine now,” She tells her. “I’m—

“What was it?”

“Nothing,” she says. The breath that escapes her sounds like it's the first time she's surfaced after almost drowning. She touches Lexa's forehead with her own and puts her arms around her shoulders.

Even to herself, she knows she seems fragile. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay?” Lexa asks.

“Yes.” Abby relaxes as Lexa leans over her. “I’m okay.”

Abby traces Lexa’s chin, her mouth, the sweeping planes of her face, and she studies her. “Do we need to talk about this?”

“No. Yes.” Lexa says, her voice hoarse. “Later.”

Abby brings her hand to her own mouth, absently outlining her lip. Lexa covers Abby's hand with hers and chases Abby’s touch, bereft and cold where Abby’s warmth branded her moments before. She draws an unsteady breath and forces herself to focus on the woman in the circle of her arms. Abby's gone very still. They gaze at each other for a long time, quiet and unhurriedly mapping everything, waiting, patient.

Lexa’s preternatural green eyes are unknowable territory, the way anyone is, protean. She imagines a long history of duty and a ruthlessly honed, violently trained wildness. Something untamed must have been at the core of her to be tempered so young into a persona this deadly and calculating. And vulnerable. Innocent. 

Lexa shifts and tilts her head. The challenge in Abby’s eyes dispel the last of her concerns—it’s not a challenge per se, it’s an unconscious, direct way of seeing her that none of her own people have ever dared or even thought of attempting since her Ascendency. She wants this, even if it’s just to be known by someone, for a little while. 

“It helps me—it’s good that you aren’t frightened of me.” She murmurs. 

Abby laughs to herself, and reaches up to brush a strand of Lexa’s hair away from her eyes, “I’m not frightened by you. I’m furious with you.”

“I have no one I’m accountable to; is that what you think?” Lexa says. They're both dazed, and she feels Abby catch herself.

Abby utters a soft, wondering curse, “Do you always handle your diplomatic agendas by— “

“Don’t.” Lexa pushes herself away, and rakes her hands through her hair. She blinks disbelieving and irritated at Abby before saying, “You can go at any time.”

Abby watches her, fascinated, and then says so quietly Lexa thinks she might be imagining it, “Commander. Are you accountable? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her?”

Lexa does understand, she does. But Abby, of all people, should know what it means to lead. “Why did you send her here in the first place? I’ve seen who she is, and she is  _your_  flesh and blood. She’s that strong. We’re alike, Chancellor, you and me. I see it in her, too.”

“Now I’m Chancellor again?” Abby sighs. “I sent her down so she wouldn’t become anything like me.”

“It was a suicide mission—it was the most reckless, calculated risk I’ve ever heard of, you did the unthinkable. You gambled on  _your own daughter’s_ survival.” Lexa snaps.

Abby's had it. She shoulders past Lexa, tugging, yanking at her shirt, straightening it roughly. She stalks over to where a servant left wine for her and she downs two cups of it before barely getting a handle on herself. She launches the cup at Lexa’s face. Lexa hardly moves to avoid it.

“Tell me you don’t love her. I see it in everything you’re doing.” Abby’s voice is pure venom. “How can you—“

“There was only one person who was special to me, Chancellor,” Lexa says, not even sure why it matters so much that she has to repeat this over and over, “But I do love my people. And I will  _not_  put my people—those I care about above myself, before anything else—in danger. I love  _all of them,_ Chancellor. The pain never goes away. Can you say the same?”  

“Yes I can,” Abby steps closer, her face an inch from Lexa’s. “I can’t pretend that part of me doesn’t die every time I lose one. But I’ve lost the most important one. My child. She’s gone because you broke her heart. Because of _you_.” She breathes out, “She’s my kid.”

When Lexa remains silent, Abby goes on, “And what you just said is complete bullshit. You sacrificed your people at Tondc.”

“But I saved your child.”

Abby gasps despite herself, because that  _hurts_. The part of her that died when she realized Clarke had known and hadn’t warned any of them. The way she’d begged Clarke to tell her that Lexa had made the decision to flee; that anyone but Clarke was responsible. The viciousness and disbelieving terror with which she attacked Clarke;  _You crossed a line._

“She’ll be alright, Abby.” Lexa says, “She survived you.” 

Abby’s desolation eclipses her anger. Her eyes, as ferocious as anything Lexa’s ever seen—even in hand to hand combat—cloud over in utter, helpless pain and she knows she’s gone too far. 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said. “That was—” 

“That was perfectly executed, Commander. Get out.”

“No,” Lexa says, moving towards her unconsciously, reaching out to Abby and then letting her hand fall away. “I don’t know you. I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Lexa, please.” The defeat in Abby’s voice is even more shocking to Lexa than the all-encompassing anger, “We have a deal. There’s no need for any of this. I leave in the morning.” 

“You don’t want to be here when she—“ Lexa hesitates and then nods, “There’s no one better than Roan at tracking. He’ll find her and I’ll send word.”

“There are two people in this world she wants nothing to do with,” Abby says without looking at her. “You can take the blame for this, Lexa. You can do that for all of us; you’ll do it for me. After that—Mount Weather, Raven, everything—we’re done with each other.”

“Raven?”

“You tortured her, Commander. Flayed her. You thought she’d tried to poison you." Abby goes to get another drink and ends up slamming the earthenware to pieces into a wall. "Is it an everyday occurrence for you? Is it just one of those  _things_  that happen during your busy day? Too many people to execute and avenge and—can you keep it all straight?” 

Lexa's iron control comes at great cost; there's a massive headache building behind her eyes, “Raven. Yes. I remember. Gustus. And Clarke. And…. Raven.” 

She nods to herself, willing herself not to cry. That’s the one Abby’s not speaking of. That’s the one. Lexa's lonelier than she can ever remember. “I will, Abby. I’ll do that for you. She won’t hate anyone but me.”

Lexa waits for Abby to answer her, waits for her to do _something_  and when Abby doesn’t respond Lexa sighs, “Gustus was my friend, Abby. It's our way. Go back to Raven. Be well.”

It’s a very long time before Abby’s calms enough to turn from where she’s staring blindly at nothing to give her thanks. It’s sincere. It has to be.

When she does; she’s alone.

* * *

She has a horse, and enough food and water for a three-day ride back to the  _Skaikru_ camp. She doesn’t know how to ride a damn horse and spends most of the first day too petrified to do much of anything except hang on for dear life.

The thing is so  _big._  At least it’s something else to think about besides every other lunatic situation over the last months—not dying from being trampled by a horse is an easy thing to fixate on. These few days have been too much, brought up too much; it’s almost nice to feel put out and annoyed at just one inconvenient animal again.

“We’re going home. Good. So. You obviously know the way better than I do.” Abby says to the horse, anything to stop her from obsessing. She’s pissed at herself—the behavior with Lexa. There are countless, hard parallels between them.

“I agree. We should just enjoy the day.” She mutters to herself and strokes the animal’s neck. The beast doesn’t kill her for it, so that’s nice. Octavia will love this thing. And because Abby’s Chancellor she doesn’t have to explain where it came from. She can just glare at people who ask too many questions. 

It’s right then that the horse spooks. Abby hears a sharp crack, too late. She loses what little balance she’s managed so far and almost goes over the horse’s neck and later, she’ll realize that that’s what saves her life. The knife—when it hits her—grazes her forehead instead of lodging itself through her neck. Her head explodes with white-hot fire. She loses her bearings and crumples off her mount.

* * *

When Abby comes to Lexa (and the horse, God love him) peers at her, expression indecipherable. Her flash of concern is what puts Abby at ease and she closes her eyes again.

For a few blessed seconds, she feels nothing and then red, blinding pain blooms in her head and she groans despite herself, rolls over and throws up. Lexa holds her hair back and then moves them both a few feet away out of the afternoon sun, gently, so she doesn’t get sick again. The shade is good and Abby closes her eyes against the light piercing her brain.

After a while, Lexa moves Abby’s head off of her lap and onto softer fabric, pillowed by the lush grass (which smells so good Abby just wants to fall into it and never leave) and walks over to what Abby recognizes as a body. Two horses stand unperturbed next to it, grazing. She decides to be like the horses and not freak the fuck out. 

“ _Azgeda?_ ” Abby whispers.

Lexa glances at her and nods. “I thought it might happen. You _are_ her mother as well as Chancellor. They’d have every reason to find you. No bounty, but you're another powerful figure on a moving landscape.”

“So you followed me?”

Lexa’s face lights up and she looks young, and mischievous, “Yes. No one knows. I do it sometimes—leave without telling anyone—I just bring one guard who lost her tongue in battle and she stays out of sight. It lets me think I have sovereignty over my own life now and then.”

Abby blinks at her. Lexa shrugs, still smiling.

“Try not to sleep, if you can manage it. I’ll be back soon.” Lexa easily picks up the assassin’s body, double her weight and size, and disappears for an hour, maybe two. She can’t tell anymore. 

She drifts and tracks the ebb and flow of her pain. She reaches gingerly for her forehead and clinically approves the wrapping or the poultice resting against her flesh wound. She can tell it’s not deep, but it hurts like a son of a bitch and she’ll need stitches.

Abby moves to sit up when Lexa returns, but Lexa puts a firm hand to her chest and stops her. Abby’s head goes back on her lap and her whole body is suffused with comfort—warmth, and light. Lexa strokes through her hair lightly. It feels really good.

“Did you give me something?” She murmurs suspiciously without opening her eyes.

“No, nothing. I found belladonna tinctures in your bag, would you like to—?”

“Yes, please. I think there’s also morphine packs.”

Lexa rummages around for what’s needed and applies the field medicine with competent, concerned authority. “I’ve sent Gillian ahead to your Camp. They’ll be here soon." 

“How soon?”

“Tomorrow sometime, I suspect.” Lexa says, “I sent her with your Chancellor pin; she understands English and she can write so they’ll know what she’s trying to tell them. Your people will most likely try to kill her. If any of them survive they’ll be coming to find you.”

They sit together and Abby shivers despite the warmth of Lexa’s body and the afternoon and Lexa has her drink small sips of water and take one bite of salted bread every once in awhile. She’s grateful that her stomach is settling and doesn’t heave at odd times anymore. The pain ebbs to a dull ache and Abby can breathe without shooting bright-hot pulses through her temple and behind her eyes. The throbbing is barely there; time is weird.

“I love morphine, fucking lovely. You should try this.” she sighs and rolls further into Lexa’s lap, resting her head against her stomach and reaching for her hand.

“Do you know how I know you’re a good leader?” Lexa asks.

“Mm?”

“You managed to survive an ambush right next to some very convenient sheltering caves. No one will see the fire and we’ll be out of sight. We’ll rest another few minutes and then we’ll move in there until your people come.”

“Planned it out to the detail. I don’t screw around, Commander.”

“No.” Lexa laughs, “You don’t.”

* * *

By the time they’re inside the cave, Abby is able to help move her things and her equipment. Lexa seems pleased that she can do anything on her own and Abby allows her to check her pupils and the dressing around her head after they’ve settled in. The horses graze a few meters away. 

Abby moves slower than usual as if it hurts to do so. It doesn’t, really; she just doesn’t want to risk the headache coming back.

Lexa wedges a makeshift torch into a crevice and goes about building a small fire for them; the night will be cold for this time of year. Abby can see a small opening above them for the smoke to clear out of and Lexa’s using the foundation of a well-used fire pit.

“You’ve been here before.”

“Of course. These are our hunting lands. We know every inch of it. Even the horse I gave you knows this route; it’s his favorite because he’s so easygoing and peaceful and this way is all glades and streams and berries—“ She leans around Abby to look fondly over at the huge beast, “He would have gotten you home in four days rather than the standard three. Five if you’d let him have his head.”

“So even if I strayed—”

“You wouldn’t have.”

* * *

They sit together covered in cloaks and eat more of the bread, cheese and a hearty hunter’s stew made from root vegetables and small rabbits Lexa had come back with after making sure Abby was comfortable. It smelled delicious and Abby woke up ravenous from a short doze. After they eat, Lexa pulls out a meadskin of the same potent liquor they’d shared with Roan and they pass it back and forth in silence.

Lexa takes a long look at Abby’s face in the firelight and stands up, brings a container of salve from one of her packs over to where Abby is sitting. She kneels in front of her and with a gentle touch, using hot water and cloth, cleans the flesh wound and a smaller gash Abby hadn’t noticed on her cheek.

“I’ll live?” Abby asks.

“If we don’t kill each other first. Yes.” Lexa says, smiling into Abby’s eyes.

Abby winces as she dabs at her temple and raises her hand to push Lexa’s hands away, “Enough please, no more.”

“It’s clean now.”

“Thank you.”

Lexa sits back on her heels and gazes at her, “You took a hard fall and you’ve been moving slowly. Is that your head wound or are you hiding a bruise?”

Abby softens, her face a warm, beautiful contrast of firelight and shadow. “How did you know?”

“Despite what you think, I’m not an idiot.”

“Sometimes you are.” Abby says, closer to Lexa than she was before. 

“Let me see,” 

Abby strips off her shirt and hears Lexa inhale sharply. Abby’s torso is a mass of bruises. Lexa curses steadily under her breath as she inspects her, her hands achingly gentle as she does, turning her back and forth in the firelight, grateful at least that there are no open wounds. She pauses the longest over the old shocklash scars but says nothing. 

Abby watches her with barely contained amusement. 

“Here,” She hands the drink back to Lexa, “Relax and please don’t go into a vengeful rage or dig the assassin up so you can kill him all over again. I’m sure you’ve suffered worse. Just give it time. Look, see? I’m breathing, no broken ribs. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re a horrible patient.”

“Ugh, I know. Doctors are the worst.”

* * *

Lexa takes another drink and drops her head back; she lets the alcohol warm her and settle her nerves. Before she can say anything, Abby lies down and props her head up on her arm and then, with very little hesitation, places two fingers on Lexa’s lips, “Thank you for... this." She gestures around them and touches her head.

Lexa’s eyes widen slightly, but she remains quiet. When Raven asks her later what she was thinking, Abby can only shake her head and say, "The world stopped for a moment. She was beautiful." And in the dark when Raven flinches back unaccountably hurt, Abby moves closer and places her lips against her ear, "It was beautiful, Raven. That's it, that's all it was. No more, no less."

Abby looks at the remote and contradictory woman next to her and slips her fingers around the back of Lexa’s neck and does as she's wanted to do for a few days. She kisses her. Lexa's mouth is soft and incredibly warm, her lips flow effortlessly over hers.

Lexa’s hair tumbles loose around them; she looks ethereal in the flickering light of the cave but the skin beneath Abby’s hands is smooth and very real. Her lips part and their tongues slide lightly together, tentative and silken. Lexa reaches around to untie Abby’s hair and runs her hands through it, letting it trail through her fingers. Lexa’s arms come around her in a welcome embrace and she kisses her harder, cleaving to her.

The fire burns next to them and the horses stand guard outside with an occasional soft whicker and drowsy shifting in the tall grasses. The moon is full, and the forest is quiet around them, dark as a landscape of dreams. Lexa’s hands smooth over her skin and Abby nearly comes apart and laughs into Lexa’s shoulder at how stupidly eager she is, how wonderful it feels to be touched—how much graciousness, desire and awe are in both of them. It takes a while for them to stop smiling into each other’s kisses or pulling back to just stare. It's somewhere during the time Lexa runs her mouth in open, hot, wet paths between Abby’s breasts and over her stomach, coming up again to swipe her tongue just past her nipple—causing Abby to moan incoherently—that Lexa decides she’s taking her time. She savors Abby as gently as she can, placing her hands against Abby’s battered body until they both relax into a silent haze of much-needed wonder.

And Abby begins to talk softly to Lexa telling her what she wants in amazingly wonderful detail. Lexa pauses to smile at her and shake her head. Abby just grins and laughs. Her laugh is everything.

“I told you it’s been a while.”

Lexa doesn’t answer except to take the sensitive skin just under Abby’s ear between her teeth and suck gently, whispering in her own language as she slides her hand down Abby’s stomach and strokes her between her legs until Abby shivers against her, clutching at the back of Lexa’s neck and hair in increasingly uncontrolled movements. When Lexa finally enters her, she moans and holds still and waits as best she can, overwhelmed by the heat of Lexa’s—everything. “More,” she breathes out.

Lexa doesn’t move her hand, but she bends to take one of Abby’s nipples into her mouth and bites down until Abby gasps and rises to meet her. Lexa soothes her where she's bitten her and then begins to drive Abby out of her mind as she focuses all of her attention on the swell of Abby’s unbelievably sensitive breasts. The taut strength in Abby’s arms tremble around her shoulders and Lexa’s muscles tighten low in her belly, her own ache rising so fast she shifts restlessly, seeking out any sort of purchase she can for her own sake. Lexa holds off until Abby draws her back down, fiercely this time, licking up her neck, tasting salt and fire smoke and taking her mouth in a long, drawn out desperate kiss. Lexa runs her hand up Abby’s leg and startles when her fingers find the horrifying scar.

“Abby. What did they do? This is recent.” Lexa’s frozen. Her body is shaking in sympathy and horror. Abby hesitates and then sighs and runs her hand through her hair; she sits up.

“They drilled into my leg. They thought the bone marrow would help them.”

Lexa doesn’t have to ask who she’s talking about and reaches for Abby's hand, “Does it hurt?”

“Yes. It's still stiff, hurts when it gets cold. It’s pretty much healed but the scar, all of it—I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.”

Lexa pauses, lowers her eyes and then rises up on her knees so Abby can see her body. There are scars all over her. Lines of skin and muscle knot together and map her upper torso, across her stomach, along her legs. Abby makes a helpless sound in the back of her throat as she ghosts along the ridges and valleys ripping across this otherwise perfect woman. Lexa nods at her once and tears come to Abby’s eyes despite herself. There’s nothing to say. All of it makes a life, moments. Decisions. Choices. Battles. Survival. Lexa is a leader. Scars can be physical or hidden.

Lexa allows her to touch her for as long as she wants until Abby drops her hands and wipes at her eyes. Lexa follows and kisses the corner of her eyes, her forehead, her chin, her mouth.

When she’s sure Abby is okay again, Lexa settles between her legs; her own eyes dark and glittering. She places Abby’s thighs around her waist and holding Abby's gaze enters her without a word. Gently at first, watching her closely. Ridiculously grateful, Abby sighs and leans back on her shoulders and lets her hips fall into the same maddening, slow rhythm of Lexa's hand. Lexa strokes in and out of her—losing herself in Abby’s pleading, deliberate encouragement and the rise of her body against hers—beginning to crave the unbelievably hot, slick warmth at the center of her.

It doesn’t take long at all and neither of them have any desire to stop the inevitable or slow anything down further to savor this—even as Abby’s dimly aware that Lexa is taking infinite care with her. Making sure she doesn’t bruise or mark her further. Abby’s surprised to realize that she wants to be marked in some way and she asks for it and Lexa responds. Her hands are rough and reverent, her teeth at Abby's neck and chest, her other hand working over her already tender, aching nipples and sending her into violent throes of pleasure and Abby reaches for her wrist and helps her thrust into her. Their kisses are messy as hell, both of them barely conscious of anything else except where their bodies come together.

And at the end, they both look; eyes wide. Seeing each other unguarded. They hang suspended there for moments, an eternity, before Abby cries out against her lips, a sound of release and amazement that Lexa absorbs into her heart. It permeates her overheated skin with undeniable beauty because it’s freely given.

It takes a while for Abby to come back to herself and Lexa waits patiently, her hand still between them. Abby breathes steadily after a while and places her fingers along Lexa’s jaw, lifts her head to kiss her and then meets her eyes with a satisfied, shy smile. 

Without a word she rolls Lexa under her and begins to ride her hand, just enough so there's no doubt about Abby’s rising excitement again, the undeniable evidence that she’s still aroused, still hot and wants her with everything she has.

Abby takes Lexa’s face between her hands and kisses her as slowly as she moves, keeping time for both of them, and then pushes up with her hands on Lexa’s shoulders to look down at her and roll her hips indolently so that she coats Lexa’s arm and thighs with her come. Lexa’s breath catches around a constriction in her throat, and she closes her eyes briefly to get some kind of control over her own body as she caresses Abby's rigid abdomen. Just watching Abby makes her lose her bearings. It’s terrifying.

“Are you tired?” Abby murmurs against her lips, and Lexa can hear the amused, teasing quality of the question. “ _I’m_  the one who almost got killed today.”

Abby’s looking for something in her and sees it; a certain obstinacy, an inability to truly let herself go, “You can’t control a thing right now.” She laughs, low and pleased, and thrusts against her a little harder. “I’m all you want.”

If Lexa had been standing, the tone of Abby’s voice alone would have made her sink to her knees and press her hands against her eyes shutting everything out—she’s hovering on a thin edge between staying and fleeing as it is. No one has been this close to her in a very, very long time; she hasn’t let this happen.  _Why_  this is happening is almost more than she can handle. 

She’s needed to be invincible, she might be as close to immortal as any being alive is—she has a sentience in her that will last through all time—but her heart is fragile and human and right now it hurts so much she can barely hold it together. This is something she never does,  _can’t_  do, and she realizes that she’s so tired of her own barriers and strength and remove that— 

Abby sees her and closes her eyes to it. Out of respect and care, Abby kisses her, comforting and innocent all at once, and whispers, “It’s alright, sweetheart. We have time, take your time,” into her ear. She gives Lexa a moment of space and peace and lets her  _be_. She waits as the last vestiges of command and constraints and roles and responsibilities fade away from both of them until only a simple expectation of pleasure remains.

It doesn’t take long, but it needs to happen and Lexa decides that Abby might be a magical thing because all she did was go absolutely still above her. All she did was allow Lexa a moment to be herself, gently and inexorably, whatever that is. 

Abby Griffin—under extreme duress and at great emotional cost—has learned a few things.

“Please,” Lexa whispers.

Abby strokes her cheek and cups her chin swipes her thumb across her bottom lip. “Anything.”

Abby winds a lock of Lexa’s hair around her fingers and lays her whole body flush against every part of Lexa she can reach and they tangle their legs easily together, eager and bright again. Lexa looks up at her, shocked at the pleasure that suffuses her body as Abby’s expressive, patrician face changes into an austere and remote landscape. Abby's gathering herself entirely for her and Lexa needs to watch her do it, knows this is real, her hot skin sliding over her wetness. Abby’s hair falls across Lexa’s shoulders and face, rippling in auburn and dark blonde waves and Lexa is almost completely overwhelmed with sensation and starts begging.

“Please,” she says again. She notices the effect her voice has on Abby and it thrills her. Abby lowers her head and takes her in a kiss that has her trembling and open and she almost laughs at Abby’s barely suppressed, smug expression. She’s missed this. It can be just that easy between two people.

Lexa draws Abby against her while tracing the elegant lines of her back, kneading the muscles all along her spine as Abby’s mouth moves on her, following the details of her tattoos and the strong, taut planes of her stomach as she makes her way down Lexa’s body until she’s hovering just at the center of her, caressing the insides of her thighs, watching the flush mount up Lexa’s chest and neck.

Abby parts her legs effortlessly and enters her, follows her hand with a long, unrushed swipe of her tongue and Lexa loses the last vestiges of any control she thought she had. Abby’s going to take her pleasure as much as she gives it. She’s helpless and free for as long as Abby wants her, as long as her body wants to ride out its own ecstasy as Abby tastes every part of her and continues to thrust inside her like a slowly cresting wave. 

Lexa was almost blind with need before Abby even touched her and now she’s drowning in it, in herself, in what she knows is just the idea of Abby simply taking her over and over. And it’s that thought—that Abby is the one making love to her so patiently, so wildly and slowly, taking such care of her, enjoying herself so much, that she’s allowing herself this respite from everything she is—it’s that unbelievable astonishment that sends her over. 

She comes so hard that she lifts off the soft bedding and wraps herself around Abby’s shoulders, kissing her with complete abandon, tasting herself all over Abby's mouth, as she breaks against her again and again. Lexa’s barely conscious but she reaches out for Abby’s hand, the one that’s stroking her breast and she holds it to her heart as she falls.

She can hear Abby’s voice in her ear whispering encouragement and talking her through a hurricane of sensation. It’s the last thing she hears for a long series of moments until she collapses to the ground again drawing Abby up to lay next to her. She wraps her arms around Abby’s shoulders with her head cradled to her neck. Instinctively, she keeps her hand in Abby’s and Abby laces her fingers through hers.

She comes back to herself slowly. Abby has wound her hair through her fingers again and she tugs gently at it as she breathes out “beautiful” and smiles at her. She’s stretched out against her and has pulled the furs up over the lower halves of their bodies.

Lexa sees the bright world and Abby’s open, gentle expression. Her eyes, compassionate, triumphant and intelligent, swim into focus again. 

“Lexa.” Abby says.

“Abby.” Lexa grins. 

They sort of smile goofily at each other and then Lexa announces, “Raven needs to get herself together.”

Abby bursts out laughing and nods her head, giggling uncontrollably. She kisses Lexa’s forehead, lingering there and agrees, “She does.”

Lexa tangles her own hand through Abby’s thick, glorious hair and turns to her so that their noses almost touch, “I— Abby,” she looks into Abby’s eyes, her own eyes are dancing in the last, muted light of the embers of the fire, “thank you.”

“Never say thank you for love.”

Lexa inclines her head, like after listening to a vow, and settles into Abby’s arms. She strokes Abby's face and neck and murmurs small sounds and phrases to her and to herself. She’s asleep in minutes, used to sleeping in the open under any circumstances, in any weather.  Abby’s pretty sure Lexa could sleep standing up and be none the worse afterward.

Abby runs her fingers through Lexa's hair, gently untangling knots and rests; stares unseeing into the darkness. She closes her eyes, content to feel Lexa’s pulse against her own, listening to the sound of her breathing. Finally, exhausted and deeply satisfied, she settles into the surrounding night and drifts off.

* * *

“Lexa? Where are—?” Abby wakes up far too early and finds herself alone in bed and cold and without Lexa’s warmth wrapped around her. She stomps out of their temporary shelter grumpy as all hell.

“Chancellor, we have company.” Lexa barely glances at her and Abby sends up fervent thanks that she had the foresight to dress before coming outside.

“Abby?” Raven’s eyebrows practically shoot off her face and she lowers her gun. Behind her, the Grounder Lexa called Gillian rolls her eyes spectacularly. Bellamy stands behind her scowling; his gun is still raised. Kane just looks annoyed at everyone.

If Abby were at all in a good mood, she’d imagine that Raven and Bellamy have been  _insane_  pains in the ass all the way here. 

“Hooray, you found me. Lower your weapons. Now.” Abby puts her hair back in a pony tail and crosses her arms over her chest, “I was heading back, anyway.”

“Lexa sent for us. We heard you were hurt.” Raven steps forward and rakes her eyes up and down Abby’s body and all over her face, looking for injuries.

“You look like you’re hoping I was.” Abby snaps and immediately regrets it. It’s unfair.

“What’s with the attitude?” Raven asks quietly. She reaches out and touches Abby’s temple gingerly, “God. That’s a knife wound.”

Abby stares hard at her for a long, awkward minute; it’s so pointed and seems like forever that even Lexa shifts uncomfortably after awhile.

“Jesus, Abby.” Raven mutters but clenches her jaw and refuses to back away.

Abby shakes it off and adjusts herself internally. “Everything’s fine. No one can find Clarke, not yet. But we,” She indicates Lexa, “have an understanding. I’m not as worried as I was before.”

Raven’s very eloquent eyebrow lifts again.

“Okay, I’m still a fucking  _disaster_  about her but things are—better.” Abby looks at Raven, this time without any walls up. Defenses are always impossible with Raven, “She has a price on her head, all the Clans are looking for her. She’ll go to the highest bidder if Lexa doesn’t find her first. And she’ll be killed.”

“We have one of the best bounty hunters and trackers alive looking for her. If he can’t do it; I have most of my forces looking for her anyways. She’ll be found. He has every incentive to bring her to me for her own safety, and his.“ Lexa explains, her hands resting on her back.

“To _you_?” Bellamy barks out, incredulous.

Lexa nods, “To me. She won’t come back to  _Skaikru_. Not now. Maybe not ever. Even if we found her and left her at your gates, she’s not ready nor does she  _want_  to be with any of you. Polis is the safest she’ll be under the current circumstances and political climate. We’re on war standing right now—with another clan.” She adds unnecessarily, surprising herself. She’s under no duress to say anything at all.

“She’ll kill you.” Bellamy laughs, not even bothering to ask about any of it.

“She’ll try.” Lexa agrees.

And then Lexa can’t help herself, “What did you people  _do_  to her? She  _fled._  She doesn't want to come back to you.”

Bellamy full on bristles at that and steps forward threateningly, “What did  _we_  do to her—?“

“Bellamy, stand down.” Kane’s voice cracks like a whip through the clearing. “Get yourself under control. Abby’s fine.” He glances at Abby’s head wound, concerned, “There’s no need for dramatics.”

“She is fine. The wound is dressed and her head is hard.” Lexa says with a straight face. She turns to Abby and asks, “Your headache is gone?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

Raven snorts sharply. 

“I cannot and will not have a conversation about Clarke again until we get back to camp. Okay? Please.” Abby sees all of them gearing up to protest, “I’m her  _mother_. Trust me on this or I won’t come back either.” 

Raven’s face, so blindingly beautiful to Abby, looks like a summer storm and she turns away, “You guys heard the Chancellor. We’ll give you—“

“Raven, you call me that again, in that tone of voice and—“

“In  _WHAT_  tone of voice, Abby?”

Lexa takes a deep breath and catches Kane’s eye; he looks at her with a small, amused smile on his face. The corners of her mouth twitch and she nods at him. He inclines his head in full agreement. Because it’s true and the two people in the clearing who most need to see it are stubborn as fuck.

“I’m leaving now.” Lexa says.

Abby whips around and narrows her eyes at her. Lexa meets her gaze impassively.

Kane is still watching Lexa, she fascinates him; it’s like seeing snow on a plain pick itself up against a gale wind and stir as though uneasy at first but then settle. It’s a natural phenomenon. It’s not exactly like that, but it’s cold and final and—free.

There’s no reply. Abby just nods and walks up to Lexa and stands in front of her. Bellamy and Kane feel the need to turn away out of respect. Raven cannot look away. Everything screams in her to look away but she can’t.

"Talk to me, please. Help me with this, with you," Lexa says so softly Abby has to lean in.

“Be careful,” Abby murmurs. She cups her fingers along her jaw and angles her face so they can see one another. “Just be careful, all right? She’ll remember you. She'll hate you like she hated me. She will. But she'll know you. Give her time.”

Lexa smiles at her and brings her forehead to Abby's, breathes in Abby's scent—grass, woodsmoke, sex, something all Abby's own. She kisses her in the ritual way of one ruler to another and then she kisses her as a lover kisses the beloved before a long separation. 

Then she turns and walks away. Gillian follows her and they mount their horses. Abby must have slept through everything this morning; the breaking of camp, things packed, the horses fed. Everything.

Abby watches her go. She watches until they disappear through the trees and she watches until she’s sure she can’t hear the sounds of the war horses picking their way through the forest back where they’d come from.

When she finally turns to face them, Raven is still staring at her.

“Let’s go home,” Abby says and holds out her hand. "Raven, take me home."


End file.
